Bad Jelly Babies
by Mardy Lass
Summary: Ten and Martha find that not all jelly babies are good: some try to disconnect power and hunt down TARDISes... How far will Martha go to stop them? And who really knows the difference between a Frootmig Coupler and a Baseroteric DeAntonn Board anyway?
1. Chapter 1

**ONE**

"Doctor, suddenly they don't look very happy with us," Martha said edgily, starting to step backwards toward the Doctor slowly.

"Eh? Oh, er, yeah," he realised, turning and looking at the crowd of small black beings, blinking up at them. He noticed them starting to bunch up and open coats, producing small items that looked suspiciously like weapons.

"So… time to go?" she asked quickly.

"Yep!" he said hastily, reaching out and grabbing her elbow. They turned and ran.

Small buildings and straw huts whooshed past them, other short black beings waved at them to stop, but they noticed none of this. They pounded down the dirt track, Martha slightly behind. He appeared to slow as they spotted the TARDIS sitting all by herself, starkly blue in the yellow corn field.

"What are you doing?" she shouted as he nearly stopped, pushing his hands into each of his pockets frantically. "Run!"

"Go!" he called as she overtook him. She didn't look, just ran for her life, flailing through the hip-high corn without a second thought. The crowd of black aliens were thankfully far behind, their shorter legs hindering their chase somewhat.

Martha hit the door of the TARDIS and breathed a hasty sigh of relief. She pushed on the door. It didn't open. She scrabbled for the chain wound round the inside zip of her jacket, trying to yank out her key.

"I'm coming!" he shouted from way behind her, and she turned and watched him barrel through the corn, trying to jump slightly over it and yet run at the same time. He was yanking something from his brown trouser pocket as he ran.

Suddenly he stopped and disappeared into the corn.

"Doctor!" she shouted accusingly.

"Yeah!" he called back, invisible, then abruptly straightened again, waving his right hand at her. "Key!" he cried happily, running toward her again.

He stopped and jammed the key into the lock as Martha turned and found several black aliens pointing small sling-shots at them.

"We're going to get stoned," she said warningly.

"There!" he called, pushing the door open and grabbing her by the shoulder, hauling her in and slamming the door.

They heard a battering on the outside of the door of the TARDIS.

"Oi! Get off my ship!" he called angrily even as he ran to the console. He yanked on some levers and then reached over for another one. "Martha Jones!" he called suddenly, "Push that one!"

The TARDIS lurched sideways and she grabbed the console to steady her.

"What was that?" she demanded, reaching for the button he was still angrily gesturing at.

"They're TARDIS-tipping!" he cried. "Now push it!"

The TARDIS rocked again much more violently. It slammed back down on the ground hard enough for Martha to lose her footing. She clutched at the console to pull herself upright, reaching for the button which was now out of reach. She stretched as the TARDIS lifted and bumped back down again, hard.

Suddenly she had a queasy feeling of not being entirely sure where the ceiling was. She toppled off-balance and fell. She managed to protect her head as she was thrown to the floor. She put her hands to it immediately, getting to her knees. She found the grating was no longer on the floor but on the _wall_. She heard the sound of grinding metal and smashing glass, something crunching in a bad way.

"Oh my god! Are we –"

"Push – it!" he shouted clearly from somewhere behind her. She turned in the direction where the console had been. She gasped and rose to her feet on what used to be the wall but was now the floor. The console, now sticking out of the wall at a ninety-degree angle to her, did not look well.

She jumped to reach it, finding herself too short. She flung herself up and felt her fingers slap at the button. The Time Rotor rose slowly, then sank and stopped.

"It's not working!" she called urgently.

The Doctor slithered round to his feet, somewhere behind her. He found himself upright and rushed over. He stopped underneath the Time Rotor as it stuck out of the wall toward his head. He jumped up with a fist and simply banged the underside.

The Time Rotor started, coughed, then began to run properly. They were thrown off their feet, sliding down the wall and banging into the real floor again as the TARDIS slowly righted herself. She barrelled down the Time Vortex at top speed.

Martha sighed and rolled onto her front slowly, lifting herself up on her elbows to look around. Parts and loose items she had never even noticed were now strewn left, right and centre, small pieces of what looked suspiciously like junk littering the grating that was now safely back on the floor.

"Doctor?" she managed, looking round. She couldn't see him, and there was a long silence. "Doctor!" she called more loudly.

"Martha-. M-. Martha Jones?" he croaked, then coughed unexpectedly.

"I'm alright. You?" she asked urgently, and there was a long pause. She pushed herself to her knees, looking round. "Oi!" she prompted, getting to her feet slowly, dusting of her arms.

"Mostly," he admitted, but she heard a slight wheeze as his head appeared at knee-height round the console leg. He found her already on her feet and looked up at her from his hands and knees. "Oh," he said shortly to himself, putting his hand up and grabbing at the console, using it to get his feet under him.

"Did you bang your head?" she asked quickly, noticing the red pattern of grating pressed into his left temple.

"I think so," he said vaguely, rubbing the opposite side of his head slightly. "Still, all sorted now, eh?" he added, wiping his face. She huffed and then dusted herself down slowly.

"What set them off like that?" she asked. He hesitated, putting his hands out as if for balance curiously. She waited, confused, and he appeared to think about it. Then he let his hands drop, looking up at her again.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, and she had a strange feeling he wasn't even in the same room, attention-wise.

"Why did those little people get so angry so suddenly?" she asked clearly.

"I think it was the jeans," he said unexpectedly, sniffing and letting one hand slide into his pocket. His other went to his head, rubbing the back of it painfully.

"They don't like jeans?" she dared, looking down at her clean ones.

"They don't like cotton," he said simply, walking back round the other side of the console, peeling his long coat off finally and throwing it over a beam. "Or blue."

"I see," she said. "But I thought you said Gellerites were these quiet, happy people," she said. He appeared to ignore her and she thought about it. "Doctor?" she prompted.

"Hmm? What?" he asked innocently. She let her eyes narrow slightly, then just let it go.

"I said I thought the little Gellerites were happy people who didn't go round shooting at tourists," she said, more slowly.

He lifted his gaze from the console, about to say something, and then stopped abruptly. She watched his gaze land somewhere in the air above her head, and his eyes glaze slightly. He put a hand up slowly, and she waited, intrigued.

"Can you feel that?" he whispered.

"No," she said, and he 'sh'ed her quickly, looking round the room carefully. She waited.

"And that?" he whispered. She simply shook her head this time. He blinked and looked at her. "Did you get a good look at what those evil little jelly babies chucked at us?" he asked.

"No. It looked like small rocks, though. Although…" She bit her lip, trying to think clearly. "They were a bit round. And… I think they were brown. You know, like… I just assumed they were rocks, but… they were a bit _light_ brown," she said slowly, thinking. He 'hmm'ed, then just sniffed and ran his hands back through his hair.

"Well, whatever, we're pretty much back to normal, I think," he said, looking down at the console and nodding. "Although… I can only imagine the stuff that will need picking up." His head snapped up quickly, surprising her with its speed. "I can't believe they tipped us!" he cried angrily. "Little –"

"Yeah well. We did kinda barge in and –"

"And what? All I tried to do was buy some tea!" he protested, waving his hands over the console airily. "Honestly! I just wanted the large packet! What kind of shopkeeper doesn't sell the largest one that's _plainly_ on display?" he shouted, apparently at no-one. She blinked, surprised.

"Talking of tea," she said slowly, "I think we could both do with some while you get us where we're going. Which is where?" she asked.

"Hmm, what?" he said suddenly, as if only just aware she was talking.

"Where are we going?" she asked slowly, watching him. He rubbed his head and hissed, then looked up at her.

"Well, I thought –"

He stopped abruptly, putting both hands out for balance again. He looked at her, his eyes wide in fear, or perhaps surprise.

"What?" she asked. "What can you feel that I can't?"

"Power surge. No – power drain. No – power… something," he breathed to himself curiously. He looked around slowly, then found his hands out and pulled them back quickly, putting them in his pockets.

"Right," she said quietly. "So we need to get somewhere to check her out, yeah?" she hazarded.

"She's not right," he said quietly, thinking and letting his tongue slide over his top teeth slowly. "She's not right."

"Well then… take us somewhere _safe_ we can see to her," she reiterated. His wandering gaze shifted back to Martha.

"Yeah," he breathed, but he didn't sound too sure.

"I'll get the tea on," she said, backing away slowly, still watching him.

"Yeah," he said, completely pre-occupied, and she turned and walked off, toward the galley.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

She walked into the control room, banging her hands together idly.

"Doctor?" she called, unable to see him.

"Hello!" he shouted wearily from somewhere on the other side of the console. She walked round the centre console curiously.

She found him lying out on his front, his head, shoulders and arms disappearing down a trapdoor in the grating. He had taken off his brown suit jacket. It was currently hung on a long lever coming out from an open door underneath the centre console, some six feet away.

She walked over and crouched, taking it all in, hearing the noises of someone busily tinkering with tools.

"Need any help?" she asked gamely.

"Give me a minute," he called up through the grate. "Can't hear you with my head down here."

She nodded, letting her feet out from underneath her and sitting cross-legged on the grating.

He moaned something and then shuffled his entire body back from the grate slowly, lifting his head out and wiping it with his right hand. He looked at the cable in his left as if it owed him money.

"Not good," he breathed to himself, and then heard her clear her throat, trying to cover some amusement. He looked over at her. "What?"

"You've, er, kinda made a mess of your face," she managed, trying not to grin too widely. He stared at her.

"What's my face got to do with anything?" he asked tersely, confused, before putting a hand up and wiping it again quickly.

"No, it's – look, you're covered in -. Well, I don't know, black soot, dust, stuff," she said, more seriously.

"Well after I've figured out why she's stopped dead and we're not _going_ anywhere, _then_ I'll worry about my face," he tutted, then looked back at the cable.

"We're not moving?" she asked, surprised. "But I thought –"

"Then you thought wrong," he snapped suddenly. "We're drifting about in the Time Vortex cos we seem to have lost power." He huffed to himself, inspecting the cables carefully. "Honestly. As if I'd care about my _own_ appearance when she's not right," he grumped, turning back and reaching back down the hole in the grating. "Just no consideration, some people."

She bit her lip and watched his upper body disappear back through the gap.

After ten minutes of struggling, grunting and hissing words that sounded suspiciously like insults, he backed out of the hole again and sat back on his heels, huffing.

This time he had a rather dense scattering of black soot in his hair, too, and large greasy patches on his shirt.

"You know what?" he demanded angrily. "I just don't know! It's just _knackered_, and I can't find a problem with it cos it's just _junk_ cunningly disguised as stuff that sometimes functions!" he snarled, getting to his feet abruptly.

She watched him, shocked.

"She's not _junk_, Doctor," she said archly.

"It's all _junk_!" he shouted suddenly, stepping back and lifting a foot, kicking at the centre console vindictively. Martha stood quickly, shocked.

"Doctor!" she cried accusingly.

"What?" he demanded, turning and looking at her. "What's it got to do with you? She's refusing to tell me what's intercepting power to the navigation board and you're just standing there, thinking you've got some right to tell _me_ how to treat _my_ ship! Who _are_ you, anyway?" he demanded, outraged.

She stared at him for a full second before collecting herself and marshalling her sudden anger.

"You're being mean," she said clearly.

"Good!" he shouted, bending down and pushing his face into hers. "It's about time _I_ got to be the mean one! You're just some argumentative pushy _girl_ who isn't even going to finish her exams to become a _doctor_ cos she's wasting her life tailing round a failing aging Time Lord with stupid delusions of happy endings and who just wants to be _left alone_!" he cried angrily.

She watched his eyes from three inches away, her own eyes blazing. Some doctor's instinct told her his pupils were too large and his breathing too shallow – even for someone shouting as he was.

"This isn't you," she realised suddenly. "In all the time I've known you, you've never been like this with anyone," she observed through clenched teeth, determined not to bite back.

"_Time_ you've known me?" he demanded in the high notes, "_Time_ you've known me? Is that supposed to be a joke? Cos it's not very funny, Martha Jones! All I've got is _time_! That's all I've ever had, and it's all I'll ever _have_! And do you know why?" he snarled, again in her face. She stood her ground resolutely. "Cos you _humans_ have no concept of it, that's why! It makes me sick! You lot just get one slice, one go at it, and then you _die_!" he cried viciously.

She watched him put his head to his head, but rather than push at his hair as usual, he simply held onto it.

"How do you think that makes me feel?" he continued to rant. "Left out, that's how! Left here doing my best _not_ to pick up a new millstone round my neck with some other poncy Earth-name attached to it! I've put up with your stupid, offensive Earth ways and your irritatingly pathetic attempts to be clever for too long! I'm not putting up with it any more! This next stop you're getting pushed out the front door as I slow her down, and _good riddance_!" he shouted, enraged.

She took a step back quickly.

"All I ever wanted was to be left alone, but no, you had to barge in here and think you _were_ someone! Well you're _not_, Martha Jones, you're just one more annoyingly _boring_ carbon-based life form with no grasp of temporal mechanics or in fact life in general! You wanted to be part of my life? _My_ life? _Which one_?" he demanded angrily.

She didn't take to the vitriol or the colour of his face at all.

"Oh look at me!" he cried suddenly, his gaze diverted to the ceiling, "I'm a London girl and I'm black too! Therefore I get special-"

He suddenly felt the back of his head slam into something.

He opened eyes he hadn't realised he'd closed, looking round. He saw the ceiling windows of the TARDIS, the underside of the console, and something told him it wasn't that the TARDIS up the wrong way at all, but rather the fact that he was lying on his back.

He was struggling with this news as he saw a familiar face hove into view above him.

"Doctor?" she asked quietly, and then he was aware of something holding his head at each side. "Doctor, can you hear me?"

"'S dirty," he said, surprised.

"What is?" she asked gently.

"That," he managed, lifting his right arm up and pointing at the underside of the console. She smiled, then sighed, stroking his fringe back away from his eyes firmly. "Did you slap me?" he asked suddenly, curiously.

"Yes," she said clearly. "You lost it."

"Lost what?" he asked faintly, sounding pre-occupied.

"The plot? Your head?" she hazarded. "You started being rude. And then it just… escalated," she smiled. He flicked his gaze up at her.

"And you decided to hit me?"

"Well it did stop you shouting insults at me," she said easily, smiling. "Although I didn't expect you to drop like Mr Slinky. I was just trying to make you stop," she added suddenly. "Time Lords must have glass jaws. Cheeks. Whatever."

"Perhaps just this one," he said. "There was a time though…" He paused, his eyes rolling round in his head slowly. "There was a time… Oh _Martha_," he breathed wretchedly, and she swallowed. "She's not well. And neither am I."

"I always harboured this idea you were one sick individual," she teased. "I should have known – I did meet you in a _hospital_, after all."

"Martha, do me a favour," he said faintly, pre-occupied.

"What?" she asked quickly.

"Stop me from being an idiot?" he asked, looking up at her again. She relaxed.

"I thought that was my role on this ship anyway?" she smiled. He blinked, then grinned cheekily. Suddenly he giggled, and she let her smile drop. "Doctor?"

"Oh, you're good!" he giggled, and she stiffened.

"Doctor, I think you've really hurt your head," she said clearly. He giggled like a small girl and she tightened her hands on his head, shaking it once, briskly. He stopped. "Doctor, listen to me," she said clearly. "The TARDIS is not well. You said so. You're not well either – I think from that bash on the head when we got tipped," she said quickly. "You've obviously got some kind of head trauma and we need to –"

"My Martha: my doctor!" he grinned winningly, and she took a deep breath.

"Look, mate, you have to get up and fix this ship. Otherwise we're dead in the water."

"Time Vortex," he corrected seriously, then raised his eyebrows at her, chuckling more like himself this time. "TARDISes don't like water. Oh they _can_ swim, they just don't like it. Like cats," he said suddenly, "or –"

"Those Gellerites have a lot to answer for," she mused, and he watched her, uncertain. "Fancy using sling-shots anyway, when they had those gun things. Not very bright, I suppose," she added, watching him sadly.

"Sling-shots and guns," he breathed quietly, and she watched his eyes roll to the left, staring, unblinking, for a long moment. "Guns and sling-shots, sling-shots and guns…"

"Yeah well. They didn't harm anything," she said slowly, letting her hand steal over his forehead, testing the temperature. "That's cool," she said, surprised.

"It's always cool," he mused to himself, then suddenly he jerked as if kicked, turning his head to look up at her. "Oh! Oh oh oh oh _ohh_!" he crowed triumphantly.

He grabbed at her hand, snatching it from his face and pulling on her to sit. She helped him sit up and he swayed dangerously. She grabbed his shoulder and held him still.

"Sling-shots! Not guns!" he cried happily. "Martha! They weren't _rocks_, they were Leackers!" he added, grabbing her arms and squeezing.

"Great. What are they?" she asked quickly.

"They attach themselves to the outside of a ship making sure they have a good hold then they find an entry point and send in fibres to attack the power lines and start dissolving and leeching and all the while they're sending telemetry back to the _evil_ little jelly babies so they can be tracked and then the evil jelly babies follow cos we'll have no power cos the fibres will have dissolved the link and when they catch up with us –"

"Doctor!" she cried, his rapid-fire babbling worrying her more than being tracked by Gellerites. He closed his mouth with an audible snap. She swallowed. "We have to find these fibres and rip them out?" she asked, more controlled.

"We have to find the fibres and rip them out," he began, but then it seemed as if he'd expended all the energy he had. "And then we… and then we… Oh, think – think – think!" he cursed at himself urgently.

She felt his fingers digging into her arms and gritted her teeth.

"_Oh_!" he barked suddenly, and she jumped. "Get them – get them out, then… then find the – the thing and thing the thingy, and the things won't be able to – to thing the thingy!" he blurted.

"Doctor," she said patiently, and he paused long enough for her to put her hands to his face, holding him still firmly. "Listen to me. You've either got a concussion or actual serious trauma. You're not making any sense. We have to get you to someone who knows about Time Lord brains and check you're alright," she said firmly but gently.

He put his hands up on hers and pulled them off quickly. But he didn't let go.

"We can't do anything if we don't-." He stopped short, taking a deep breath and squinting at her. "If we don't… What was I saying?" he asked suddenly.

"Doctor?" she said gently, and he watched her. "First things first. You have to be checked for injury, and I mean now. Then when we know how bad it is, we can fix the TARDIS and get you seen to. Ok?" she said firmly, squeezing his hands.

He blinked at her a few times, and she began to think he hadn't heard.

"Oh. Dear. Martha?" he asked quietly. She waited, nodding at him. "My bedroom, please."

"What?" she said firmly, unamused.

"There's a – a thing, and you can – thing my head, and see," he said vaguely. She breathed out.

"Come on then!" she said quickly, then let go of his hands carefully. She got from her knees to her feet, reaching out and taking his wrists, helping him to his feet. He swayed and she grabbed his shirt to stop him from falling.

"Oh," he said suddenly, "this is awkward. Can I -?" He lifted his left arm to put it round her shoulders desperately. "Right. Here we go, then," he said to himself, and she grabbed hold of him quickly, turning them and walking on to his bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

She pushed open the door and guided him through the large room, past his antique writing desk, to the bed.

"Right," she said professionally, pushing him to sit. He flumped down like a sack of potatoes, then simply fell onto his back, flinging his arms out. She put her hands on her hips. "Well?" she asked.

"Bedsheet angel," he mused to himself, sweeping his arms round in two large arcs, either side of him.

"Doctor," she said patiently. "Where's this thing for checking your head?"

"Ceiling. Wall. No – _beam_," he corrected himself.

She huffed, then turned and looked up. She turned on the spot slowly, looking round carefully, and then spotted a support beam at a forty-five degree angle in the corner. Hanging from the beam was a long piece of string, and on that on a long hook was some kind of tool belt.

She crossed over to it and looked at the array of tools on offer. She heard him humming to himself and managed to stop herself from smiling. She picked out something that looked like a stethoscope, apart from the rather shiny-looking box connected in-line.

She turned and walked back to the bed, finding him lifting his foot in the air over his face and pulling a white trainer off. She waited, amused, while he pulled the other one off too, then flopped back to the bed, apparently exhausted.

"Right, hold still," she instructed, sticking the two ear-pieces in her ears, and finding the other end of the instrument. She leaned over him and placed the silver circle to his chest.

"That's not my head," he pointed out seriously.

"I know, shut it," she said shortly. He snapped his teeth together repeatedly, apparently in some kind of tune, and watched her check both sides of his chest. "That one's running a bit fast," she observed, then lifted the end and looked down at him. "So where's this thing for your head?" she asked.

He simply put his hands up and took the ear-pieces from her ears, pulling the tops off. He pulled at the ends, unrolling straw-like pincers and then shaking them. They revealed themselves to be small round suckers and he stuck one onto either side of his head. She 'oh'ed, suitably belittled, as he took the box and pressed a few small switches.

"Right. If it's red, it's bad," he said, handing her the box.

"It's red," she said slowly, looking from the large red square on the display screen to his face.

"Good," he said neatly, letting himself smile.

"Doctor, you said red was _bad_," she pointed out.

"Did I?" he asked, curiously. "No. _Black_ is bad." He thought about it. "And motorway cones. They're _very_ bad," he tutted.

She sighed, sitting on the bed next to him and wiping her face.

"Doctor," she said quietly, and he looked at her, putting his hands behind his head comfortably. "Look, don't take this the wrong way, mate, but you're not helping me. If I can't find out what's wrong with you, I can't help you, which means you can't get over this and fix the TARDIS. Which means we'll be stuck in the Time Vortex until those Gellerites catch up with us." She looked over at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said sadly, shifting his head to gaze at the high ceiling.

"What's the matter?" she asked quietly, noticing his pout.

"Well… I didn't realise you were so eager to get shot of me," he admitted quietly. "And… it was nice to have a day off from being me," he added softly.

She sighed, watching him and shaking her head.

"Doctor, I'm not trying to get shot of you – I _love_ travelling with you," she said firmly. She noticed his pout deepen and leaned over, putting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing. He turned his head and looked up at her. "Really. I love travelling with you." She paused, watching his eyes bore into her. "Do you believe me?"

"Yeah," he admitted reluctantly, and she removed her hand slowly.

"I'm just trying to find out what happened to your head. Ok mate?"

"Yeah," he sighed sadly. She swallowed, then looked back at the box. The colour had changed and now small words were appearing. She squinted at them quickly, lifting the box to see carefully.

"Doctor?" she asked curiously, and he looked at her again. "What's a Frontal Table Birkum?" she asked.

He gasped and leaned up on his elbows quickly, snatching the box from her and staring.

"The Haybull circuit!" he crowed, "Ohhh! Martha Jones, you _star_!' he shouted, ripping the plastic suckers from his temples and tossing the entire thing to one side. He bounded up off the bed and disappeared out of the room at top speed.

She sighed, wiped her face slowly, and got up, following at a more sensible pace.

----------------------

She found her way round to the control room, finding him again down the hole in the grating.

"What is it?" she asked, crouching down next to him, trying _not_ to watch the way his backside waved around in the air while he struggled on his knees, his head down the hole.

"Haybull circuit, the Haybull circuit!" he cried excitedly.

"Right," she nodded, rolling her eyes. "What does it do?"

"It regulates power from the – from the Frootmig Coupler to the Anarlageteric Inline – Inline Augmentor," he cried, his voice muffled.

"Ah. Very important then," she said helpfully.

"A-_ha_! See!" he crowed. "What did I tell you – fibres all the way round the cables and they've displaced them from the -. Cheeky gits!" he snapped, unimpressed.

"At least now we know where the fibres are," she said positively.

"Well we're not setting any destinations without our Baseroteric De-Antonn Board," he continued excitably. He stopped abruptly and sat up, not looking at her as he looked at the cables in his dirty hands, pairing them and tutting to himself, swapping the line-up round in his fingers. "And we can't access the board without a proper Anti-Marginalising Stream Conductor, which – gah!" he snarled, swapping the cables round in his hands again. "Why won't they stay _still_!" he cried angrily.

She leaned over and took them from him quickly, looking at the colours. He put his hands to his head, rubbing it and moaning.

"Doctor, what colours do you want here?" she asked quickly.

"My brain hurts," he managed through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, but what colours do you want?" she asked sternly. "When this is fixed we can take you wherever you need and then we can rip the Leacker thing off the outside too. Come on, think!"

"Two blue, one yellow," he said quickly, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think.

"Got it," she said. "Next."

"Two blue, one yellow," he breathed, his eyes still shut.

"Yeah, I got them already," she said clearly. "Or is this another set?"

"Another set," he said tersely. "Get the first one – _not the second one_!" he cried suddenly, and she jumped. "Get the first one, plug it in the Anti-Marginalising Stream Conductor, blue wires on top," he said, pointing toward the hole in the grating, before opening his eyes and finding he was right anyway.

She squeezed past him and lay out on her front, pushing her head and shoulders through the hole and looking round quickly.

"The what?" she demanded.

"The Anti-Marginalising Stream Conductor!" he snapped. "The fibres won't be able to trace the power through it, it's shielded."

She heard the sound of the grating shifting. She looked to her left to find the light coming in as he lifted another section of flooring.

"That!" he said abruptly, appearing through the hole and pointing.

She looked at the power-socket arrangement in the direction of his finger and pushed them in quickly.

"Right. Now what?" she asked quickly.

"Get the others," he said urgently. She scrambled up and snatched up the wires, then stopped and grabbed them all up, pushing herself back down the hole. "Right, second batch, check you have the same – _aaargh_, my head," he snapped, letting it dangle through the hole suddenly.

"I've got the two blue ones, one yellow one," she said, quickly, reaching out and knocking his shoulder.

"I can't do this, it hurts," he croaked.

"Doctor, hang on!" she said quickly. "Just help me get this fixed, then we get to you someone who can help you."

"No-one can help me," he moaned.

"Doctor!" she snapped angrily.

"In the Baseroteric De-Antonn Board," he groaned, his eyes closed.

"What's that?" she demanded. He lifted a hand and pointed at another box, almost identical to the last one.

"Are you sure? Looks like the conductor," she said quickly.

"Yes I'm sure! Does a Baseroteric De-Antonn Board have a thermo-regulatory inducer?" he demanded angrily. "Plug it in!"

She did so quickly, noticing the cables jump and hum with power.

"They're working! Now what?" she asked. There was no answer and she looked at him, watching his head dangle again. "Doctor!" she shouted. He lifted his head slowly.

"A single red," he said, screwing up his face in pain. "A single red, in the Anarlageteric Inline Augmentor…"

"Right, got a single red one," she said quickly. "What's an augmentor?"

"Bright red. Looks like a football," he snapped shortly.

"Got it," she said, reaching and pushing it in quickly, checking it was secure. "Next?"

"Two yellows," he said quietly. "Two yellows in the Haybull circuit."

She snatched up the yellow cables and waited.

"Well? What does a Haybull circuit look like?" she asked him quickly. She leaned over and pushed at his shoulder again. "Oi! Doctor! What does a Haybull circuit look like?" she demanded.

"Black box," he managed, massaging his head slowly, his eyes still closed. "The other ends of them go in the Frootmig Coupler," he added vaguely.

"And what's that?" she demanded. She looked over at him, then pulled herself out of the hole and kneeled over him, yanking him out of the hole and rolling him onto his back.

He appeared to be completely unconscious.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

"Great!" she heaved, then bit her lip. She looked at the hole, then back at him. She thought for a long moment. "Look, I'm sorry I have to do this twice in one day," she said urgently, "I really am, but I don't know what a Frootmig Coupler even looks like!"

She put her hand to his face, turning it up to look at her. She pulled up an eyelid and stared in, then thought about it. She slapped at him lightly.

His eyes sprang open and he looked around quickly, then sat up suddenly.

"Right, give me that," he said smartly, a pleasant air to him as he took the leads from her and simply twisted round onto his front, disappearing down the grating. "There!" he cried happily. "Sorted! What did I tell you, _easy_!" he cried, amused.

He slid back out of the hole and sat up, looking at her. She just stared.

"Bleuuurrr! Look at the state of me! What a grimy little tech-monkey, eh?" he grinned, getting to his feet and trying to dust himself off. He looked down again to find her simply sat, staring up at him. "What?" he asked. "And – this might seem a little rude, and perhaps you have no idea either – but what happened to my shoes?" he asked curiously, staring at his blue socks.

"You… You took them off," she said. He looked at her.

"Why would I do that?" he asked, baffled. He lifted a hand and scrubbed at his hair slowly, thinking. "Ooh! Ouch!" he said suddenly, lifting his hand away and looking at it quickly. "What's that?" he asked, outraged.

She got to her feet quickly. "You don't remember?" she asked, alarmed.

"Everything, all the time," he said cheerfully, then smiled and looked around. He sniffed to himself as she watched him, shaking her head slightly. "Oh look. Ooh, that's dangerous," he commented to himself, spying the holes in the grating. "We'd better get these back before someone falls down them."

He turned and crouched, pushing the grating back in the right places slowly. He got up slowly, then cast his eyes over the centre console. He wandered over, pressing a few things and then grinning.

"She's off!" he crowed happily, then hissed and put his hand to his head, rubbing painfully.

"Doctor?" she asked, putting her hand to his elbow, just as he squeezed his eyes shut and put his other hand to it, clutching at it desperately. "Does your head hurt?"

"No, my _brain_ hurts," he growled. He let his hands drop quickly and looked at her piercingly. "Blimey, how useless are _you_ today then?" he said suddenly, outraged. She let her hand drop from his arm. "Not knowing a Frootmig Coupler from a Baseroteric De-Antonn Board! I honestly don't know why I keep you around! I should know not to pick up strange pitiful humans by now, all they do is –"

"Now that's enough!" she said sharply, and he closed his mouth audibly. He grabbed his head again, grunting with pain suddenly. She paused but then he looked back at her, an accusing look on his face she _really_ didn't take to. "You can't just tell me how crap I am at stuff Earth's never had, and demean everything I am to you, to this _ship_, like I'm some kind of –"

"Martha Jones!" he called, drowning her out. She stopped and looked at him, realising he was swaying slightly. "Look, bad things are going to happen right now and you've got to do me a favour!" he snapped hurriedly.

"What bad things? What's going to happen?" she demanded, worried. She noticed his face was red and he was squinting painfully at her.

"I'm going to do _this_," he said loudly, leaning over and pushing at buttons and levers quickly. "And then I'm going to say '_catch!_'" he said, sagging against the console. She opened her mouth quickly. "And then you're going to say –"

"Catch what?" she demanded angrily, as he mouthed the words along with her.

"And then I'm going to just -." He stopped dead, letting out a long breath and then shaking his head slowly, relieved. "Oh forget it," he sighed to himself. His eyes rolled up and he began to fall.

She grabbed at him but he was too heavy for her. He crumpled to the decking, out cold.

----------------------

He opened his eyes and was rewarded with the ceiling of the TARDIS. He took a deep breath, pulling his hands up and rubbing his head slowly, thinking.

He sat up slowly, finding himself lying on top of his bed, and looked around blearily. He spied his brown suit jacket on the peg behind his door, and his shirt on the chair next to the writing desk. He looked down at his toes, wiggling the blue socks and confirming they were his own feet.

He put his hands to his chest and found his olive-coloured t-shirt, rubbing at it briskly and slapping at his ribs before pushing himself off the bed to stand. He felt himself wobble and make a grab at the side table. His hand missed and he landed on the floor.

Suddenly the events of the past day came flooding back to him.

"Oh. Dear," he heaved guiltily, rubbing at his head again. "Right then."

He pushed himself up slowly, putting his hands to the bed and using it to stand up without falling. He let go of it and straightened slowly, his hands out for balance. He nodded to himself, satisfied he could stand without help.

He walked carefully round the bed and across the large white room to the door.

He opened it slowly and peeked out, looking up and down the hallway before sneaking out and walking as quietly as he could in his socks, round to the galley.

He walked in and looked round, his hands going into his pockets comfortably.

"Hmm," he observed, and crossed to the work surface.

-----------------

Martha looked at her phone longingly, watching it and waiting. She let her feet swing from the high chair, crossed her arms over the console surface, and let her chin lie on them heavily. She blew out a long sigh.

Suddenly the phone jumped and vibrated, and she snatched it up, still half-sprawled over the TARDIS centre console.

"Yes!" she said quickly.

"It's confirmed, Miss Jones," said a long, purring voice. "There'll be no permanent damage, it was just a little concussion. Affects Gallifreyans in different ways – he just needed that shot in the rear end and some time for his brain to set itself right side up again."

She breathed out in relief. "Oh thank you, thank you!" she breathed, then let her right hand wipe her forehead, biting her lip. "I was so worried, Hame. He just lay there, just _sleeping_," she moaned. "I didn't know what to do!"

"You brought him to us, and that was the right thing to do," Hame said warmly. "I was only too happy to help him, after all he's done for us over here. New New York would not be the same without him. Or you. Just remember – don't let him forget you've _saved_ him this time. And thanks for the extra-curricular activity yesterday afternoon. I can't remember when I've had so much fun," she added with a grin in her voice.

"Yeah. Thanks," she said quietly, and heard the connection cut.

She blew out a sigh of relief and sat back in the chair slowly, sagging against the backrest. She looked at the phone for a long moment, then pushed it slowly onto the console.

She looked up and around the room, taking in the blinking lights, the slight hum, the atmosphere.

"And thanks to _you_, too," she said to the empty room, then smiled at her apparent silliness.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

"Here we are then!" he said cheerily from the doorway, and she watched him walk in with two large mugs of tea.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked immediately, hopping off the chair and crossing to intercept him.

"Mostly," he sniffed, then favoured her with a warm smile. She looked at him, and realised that more than that, his eyes smiled too. She let herself relax slightly.

"I was worried," she said bravely, but he just shrugged and handed her a mug of hot tea.

"About me? You should know better," he said dismissively, smiling and turning to the centre console. "What have you been doing to my beautiful ship?" he teased.

"Well, first we went through your stamp album together and sold your Penny Black on eBay, then we trashed your CD collection and found your 2012 copy of '_Arctic Monkeys Greatest Hits_', and then we started looking up naughty male pics on the internet," she giggled.

"What?" he grinned, shaking his head. "Don't corrupt her, I've just got her running right."

"You? You?" she demanded, pretending to be outraged. "I think you'll find I did a lot to help her out this time, mister!"

"You did. I'm sorry," he said abruptly.

She looked at him and her smile died. She let her hands smooth round the hot mug slowly, preferring not to watch him inspect the controls with that oh-so-pre-occupied face.

"Yeah, well," she said slowly, retreating to her chair and sitting slowly, so as not to spill her tea.

"No, really," he said seriously, and she looked up to find him watching her with a piercing gaze she couldn't identify. "You did. And I'm-. And I was rude to you. Very rude," he admitted slowly.

"You weren't yourself, Doctor," she said dismissively, but something made her uneasy.

He walked round the console slowly, one hand in his pocket, the other safely busy with his tea mug. He leaned back on the console lazily, crossing his feet at the ankles and sniffing to himself.

"Martha Jones, I was rude to you. And mean. _Well_," he stressed suddenly, and she watched, about to be indignant, "not just you. Humans in general, I believe." He paused, taking in her face that had really, really wanted to be upset, but just seemed forgiving.

"Yeah, you were," she confirmed clearly. She paused. "And then I thought, what with your head, you wouldn't remember," she said quietly, blowing on her mug to pretend she was cooling it. She simply wanted to avoid that gaze that made it seem he could see into her and beyond.

"Well I did," he said harshly, and she kept her face on the mug. "I was an arse. I am sorry," he said clearly. "Martha, look at me," he said sternly.

She looked up slowly, daring to wish that he wasn't angry. But he was.

"I said some horrible, horrible things," he said clearly. "And I must apologise. It wasn't my bad head talking, or some strange disease or lapse in personality. It was… Sometimes I just get like that. About humans. Well, about non-Time Lords. And it's rude of me." He paused, taking a breath, but he didn't look away and his gaze was as searing as before. "You looked after me. Even though I said some nasty things. To you. Personally. And it's not cos you're a brilliant trainee doctor, or a marvellous travelling companion," he added, less angrily.

"No?" she asked, after a long moment of silence. He watched her, his large eyes not leaving hers for a second.

"No. It's cos you're a human. A very, very forgiving human," he said, much more quietly. She watched him look at his feet, and decided to wait him out. Presently he looked up at her again, and his eyes had sagged at the outsides, his eyebrows hitched up in blatant guilt. She bit her lip. "And I… And I'm lucky you're here, really," he managed.

"Doctor, you don't have to say this. I know I'm just a human who –"

"Martha Jones," he said quietly, but she caught the unexpected warmth in his voice. "Just… thank you," he said softly.

She smiled to herself, forcing her eyes down to the surface of the tea quickly.

"Speaking of here, where are we?" he asked suddenly, and she bit her lip.

"Oh, er, well, I knew we'd need help on this one. You'd already set the TARDIS on the right course, whether you realised it or not," she said gingerly. "I just waited for us to land and then found some old friends."

"You did? You? By yourself?" he asked, non-plussed.

"Well, no… You'd already sent us here. And I think the TARDIS did most of the work. I seemed to find the right buttons too easily," she said, still not quite sure how she'd accomplished it herself.

"No, no," he said lightly, sipping the tea thoughtfully, "she probably just gave you a hand here and there," he added. "So who, what and where then?" he asked suddenly, intrigued.

"Where do you take people when they're worryingly unconscious after blunt head trauma?" she asked him directly. "A hospital. I found Hame and off we went. Good job we got the ship fixed, isn't it?" she said darkly.

"_Nah,_ you would have been alright," he said gamely. "You'd have thought of something. You did think of something, and then you did it. See? You're not as useless as I made you out to be, back when I was being very rude and unkind," he pointed out cheerfully.

"Yeah," she said with a grin. "Anyway, never send a man, or no, a _Gallifreyan_, to do a woman and a cat's job," she smiled. He just looked at her, raising his eyebrows. "I ripped out all those fibres, and me and Hame set fire to them outside. It was a great barbecue," she chuckled.

"I wish I'd seen that," he breathed, then chuckled.

"And then I found the Leacker thing that was still attached to the outside of your beautiful ship. I prized it off and we bashed it to small pieces with some large hammers," she added cheerfully.

"Oh, good _girl_!" he laughed out loud, and she laughed with him for a few moments. "See? I knew you'd take care of things while I lounged around, useless," he stressed, and then winked at her.

She looked at her tea quickly, hiding the slight flush she felt crawling up her face.

"_Allons_-y then," he said grandly, pushing himself off the desk, but then suddenly he let himself fall back into the TARDIS console.

"_Although_," he added suddenly, and she looked up to find him staring at the ceiling, "correct me if I'm wrong, but you hit me," he said loudly, looking back at her with sudden understanding. "Twice! You're always hitting me!" he accused petulantly.

"You always give me reason!" she countered, grinning. He chuckled, and they shared a long, comfortable look.

"How's the tea?" he asked knowingly.

"TARDISy," she giggled, and he grinned affably. She thought, not the first time, that the wideness of it was more endearing than daft.

"Can't help that," he teased.

"No, you can't," she said. "But Doctor, if I could give you a bit of friendly advice?" she offered.

"What?" he asked simply, smiling.

"Really mate, blue socks with dark green boxers? Learn to co-ordinate your underwear!" she laughed out loud.

His immediate look of shock was more than priceless.

**THE END**


End file.
